Precipice
by Duchess Winna
Summary: There are times when things return to normal for her. Pippa adjusts to life in the Realms; one-shot.


**Disclaimer: Libba Bray owns these characters; I do not.**

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There are times when things return to normal for her.

Sometimes she blinks and feels as if she is waking up. Her eyes swiftly turn violet again, a soft, sweet smile works its way onto her lips and brightness intrudes in her heart. She sees the lightness in the world instead of the darkness; she focuses on her love for her friends rather than her own fear.

Those times are precious, delicate, and she's afraid that she'll lose them. She's afraid that she will lose herself forever to the darkness that is swiftly winding its tendrils around her, the darkness that she cannot help but embrace. It's a deadly game, with ghastly consequences, but she cannot stop herself from playing.

But those moments, she feels, keeps herself from succumbing completely; she sees herself standing on a precipice with nothing but blackness underneath her, disconcerting milky-blue eyes peering at her from all angles, that she shudders from instinctively but is also drawn toward, and she has one foot off of the cliff, ready to plunge, ready to fall, when she hears voices calling in her head, "not yet". And she obeys.

When she thinks about the words more closely, however, they are chilling, for they are not "no, never". They imply that soon she will be lost, soon she will plummet and there is no stopping the inevitable.

After that, she tries not to think about her future, but she still wants to make the most of the increasingly rare moments of soberness where she can logically reflect on her situation. The Realms are a place of bitterness now for her, where they once were a refuge from the unfairness of her own world. She never would have guessed, then, that this world was far crueler than her native one.

The yearning to go back is the one thing that unites her two selves (and that is somewhat how she thinks of herself now, two separate beings that share a body) and binds them together. She never stops to think that this impossible desire is what is corrupting her.

The brief moments of awareness are beautiful as she lives them, but then her other side, her bitter side, swiftly descends upon her, as if afraid that lightness and purity will turn her away from the path that has been earmarked for her. It's a terrible feeling, being dragged into that dark abyss where she is someone else entirely, someone that not even her friends would recognize.

But after that initial terror there's the euphoria, the bliss. That beautiful, perfect feeling of being important, being needed. Being adored. She basks in it, bathing in the dark inside of her. It's a miracle that she can come out of this stupor, even occasionally.

She knows that these miraculous escapes, they are all due to her friends, the ones from the real world, not the Realms. The other girls are no help; they worship her when she's dark, when she's angry. They love her for it, so in truth they cause her more harm than good.

Time is difficult to keep track of in the Realms, but she realizes that as it progresses, the number of times where she knows who she is are decreasing rapidly. That's the most frightening thing of all, she thinks. She feels as if she has been holding tight onto a rope, refusing to let go, the ends fraying, and it's getting pulled from her. She knows that if she lets go of it she is lost, and so she fights, fights so desperately, but she can't help it. She will release it, and she will fall.

The one last time that she is truly herself for more than a moment, she realizes it. For the first time, she takes responsibility, lets herself fully comprehend what will happen to her. She writes a note to Fee and Ann and Gemma, scratches it into the dirt. "Forgive me for who I am becoming," it reads in her beautiful script, neat and elegant, the letters making gentle loops. Her violet eyes hold infinite sadness as they stare at her work, fully understanding the connotations. She holds the stick she is using to write again and adds another "forgive me" for emphasis. She thinks about adding how it isn't her fault, but decides against it. She will leave her good self behind with grace, not with petulance.

And then she is falling, falling where she will never surface again for more than a moment. Her disturbing blue eyes read the message in the dirt, and her lips curl into a cruel smile, revealing jagged teeth. She lifts her foot and clears the message.

Somewhere deep inside of her, something is sobbing, but she doesn't care.


End file.
